God of War: Unbound
by KronosFireZeroOne
Summary: What had he become?


**GOD OF WAR: UNBOUND**

His formerly ash-white fists were now reddened.

The King of Olympus lay helpless before the Spartan's fury. As the drained deity was being shamefully and pitifully beaten down by his own son, his own flesh and blood, heavy, mucky rain poured down on the both of them as the sky retained its ugly, black, lifeless visage.

The Spartan was enraged, consumed in sheer hatred and determination. His father, the one who had given him life, who had blessed him with the simple act of living, had, at the same time, taken next to everything from him.

The Gods always took whatever he had left, and crumbled it into nothing but dust. That's why he was so infuriated with them, wasn't it? They had stolen from him, ruined every aspect of his life that had made him content, joyous, even.

His daughter and wife were first. His brother and mother were next.

Why should he relent? Why should he forgive? What have they ever done for him except curse him by utilizing his own existence against him? They should perish for all the crimes they had committed against him.

He is a monster. The perfect monster.

And he has just destroyed Olympus.

Wiping the gore off from his face, he stared intently at the blood on his flame-engulfed hands. He took several steps backwards, as his father's corpse shook. A bright, white light emerged out of the body of the God of the Heavens, straight up into the black sky.

The Spartan could only watch in horror and disgust.

A white explosion decimated all that remained of the corpse. Turning his head to the cliffs, the ask-covered monster looked at the destruction he had wrought on the world.

Black, poisoned waters flooded the land mercilessly. The sun was nonexistent, the skies blackening in its absence. The air smelt of infectious poison and buzzed with the sound of blood-searching insects. Plant life decayed and rotted, making the already horrid air even more so with a pungent stench.

And he was there, atop a rocky, jagged cliff, witnessing all this, and realizing just what a monster he had become.

The world had crumbled before him.

Greece is gone.

Sparta is gone.

This feeling…felt as if it was weighing itself down upon his body.

He didn't show it, but this weight was crushing his insides, tearing apart everything that made him a monster. He had crumbled from within, forced to witness the full consequences of his actions, of his quest for vengeance.

And it hurt him more than any blade, any loss could hurt anyone.

His sister, the spectral Goddess of Wisdom, congratulated him on his victory over the Lord of the Gods. He did not listen, nor did he care. All he could feel was the selfishness and cruelty that had festered inside his heart for far too long, along with an unfamiliar, yet, calming, soothing spark of a feeling he hadn't felt ever since birth.

He felt…hope.

He had his vengeance, but at what cost?

The whole of the world? Whatever worlds may be out there, still?

…Pandora?

He responded in kind to the spectre's words, if only to shut her up. And then she had the gall, the audacity to beg him for the very power he had used to doom the world.

He had to put an end to the chaos he had wrought onto his own people. He had to avenge the world he had destroyed.

And, so, he did.

Blood splattered from the Ghost's wound, onto the Phoenix engraved in the ground. A magnificent blue light burst straight out of his body, as his body rose up in a bout of selflessness and regret.

Hope had been given to the world.

Falling to his knees, the blade still impaling him through the stomach, he heard the complaints of the spectre, albeit faintly. She then floated over to him, grabbing the blade's hilt, and forcing him to stare directly into her eyes.

He did not hear the final words she uttered to him, but he knew they were of disappointment.

He scoffed directly into her face.

The blade was then pulled unceremoniously from his abdomen, and the spectre departed from the bloody scene with scorn and malice enveloping her glowing form. The Spartan laid himself down in a pool of his own blood, and, in a final show of both defiance to the Gods and peace for his soul, he did something he never had done for what seemed like an eternity.

He laughed.


End file.
